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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29802207">Nice To Meet You</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/commanderdameron/pseuds/commanderdameron'>commanderdameron</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Won't Back Down (2012)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Camping, F/M, Mom Reader, Reader-Insert, fem reader - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 17:41:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,222</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29802207</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/commanderdameron/pseuds/commanderdameron</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Your son’s fifth grade class goes on a camping trip to close out the school year. In the process of your duties as chaperone, you meet and get to know Michael Perry, the teacher for the other class.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Michael Perry/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Nice To Meet You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for Oscar Isaac Week 2021 on tumblr; prompt: favorite character</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Would you promise me something?”</p><p>David meets your eye in the rearview mirror, his expression immediately skeptical. You’re shaken by how much the face reminds you of your father—you’ve clearly been asking the grandparents to babysit too often if your son’s picking up his mannerisms. “What is it?”</p><p>The traffic light goes green at his words, so you have to take your eyes off of him as you proceed toward the school. “I know it can be a little embarrassing, to have a parent chaperoning a trip like this. So I’ll mostly leave you be if that’s what you want.”</p><p>“Yes, please,” he says at once.</p><p>“<em>But</em>,” you continue with a laugh, “I want you to promise that you’ll take me seriously around the other kids. If I give any instructions, I need you to set a good example and listen. Mutual respect, yeah? We talk about that.”</p><p>He sighs heavily as he repeats what you have repeated with him ad nauseum. “Respect isn’t a bargaining chip but that doesn’t mean we don’t both owe it to each other. I <em>know</em>, Mom.”</p><p>“I know you know. Just thought this might be a good time to remind you.”</p><p>As you pull into the parking lot, you glance in the mirror again just in time to see him soften. “I hear you.”</p><p>“Good boy.”</p><p>That doesn’t mean he’s any slower to rush to his friends by the bus the moment he’s out of the car. You watch after him with amusement as you retrieve your own gear from the trunk; he’s immediately fallen into eager conversation with a kid named Alex, with whom he’s been connected at the hip for the past few months.</p><p>“We were just starting to wonder about you.”</p><p>You turn to see David’s teacher walking toward you. Over the course of this school year, you and Nona Alberts have become friendly as you volunteered to do this, that, and the other for the class, and you were pleased when she specifically <em>asked</em> you to be one of the chaperones on this camping trip. <em>I don’t trust any of the other parents in this class to help me wrangle the kids without being an asshole</em>, she’d said.</p><p>A very compelling case.</p><p>So you’d agreed. Why not? David’s been begging for an opportunity to try out camping, and the fifth grade end-of-year trip seemed the optimum time.</p><p>“The little man couldn’t find his flashlight,” you tell her, apologetic.</p><p>Nona smiles gently and waves this off. “Don’t worry about it. We’re still waiting on Michael to get here with the van.”</p><p>Oh yes. Michael.</p><p>Michael – Mr. Perry – is the teacher for the other fifth grade class, and despite your avid engagement with things like the biannual bake sale and the spring carnival, you have never met him. Nona has <em>told</em> you plenty about him, not least of which that she thinks you’d get along <em>great</em>.</p><p>You’ve accused her more than once of implying that you’ll want to sleep with him, but she has avidly denied it each time.</p><p>And in this particular moment, a similar exchange occurs without words—the kids and the other two parent chaperones are right there, after all. But you raise your eyebrows, and she smiles innocently.</p><p>Four or five more stragglers are dropped off by their parents, receiving last-minute hugs and kisses before they’re left in the care of you and the other grown-ups. Almost as if on cue, Nona has just looked over the roster and confirmed, “Looks like that’s the last of the kids,” when a large van pulls into the lot and comes to a stop near the bus.</p><p>The driver gets out and walks around to the back of the van; you hear him clap his hands together and say, “Sorry I’m a little late, everyone! Can I get six helpers to come with me and grab the tents and coolers from my classroom so that we can get this show on the road?”</p><p>It’s more than a little silly, but when he finally comes into view, you feel an immediate inclination to offer up your services.</p><p>Michael Perry has an eager smile on his face, and he only has eyes for the children as he surveys them all and picks out a number of volunteers to follow him into the school. It’s endearing as hell, and it <em>also</em> gives you an opportunity to admire him relatively unobserved.</p><p>An absurdly handsome man who has no right to come to work as an elementary school teacher wearing a flannel with the sleeves rolled up to reveal just the right amount of forearm, and jeans that fit him so damn well.</p><p>“You could always tag along,” Nona points out, teasingly.</p><p>“Hmm?” You’re the one, now, looking to her with an innocent smile. “It looks like the kids have it covered.”</p><p>But when they come back outside five or ten minutes later, his eyes meet yours while he’s on his way to the van and you are not the least bit bashful as he takes a long look at you.</p><p>Upon seeing him, Nona gets the children’s attention. “Alright, everyone who’s not helping Mr. Perry, let’s line up to get on the bus. We’ll be full up, so everyone should plan on having a seatmate.”</p><p>Standing beside the bus, overseeing the line, you are vaguely aware of Michael coming to stand beside Nona. Under his breath, he says, “Sorry, the bastards tried to up-charge me once they realized I was tax-exempt.”</p><p>Nona sniffs—the closest thing to a laugh that she’s going to give him while she’s watching the kids. “Don’t worry about it, we had some stragglers.”</p><p>“Cool.” A pause, and then, louder: “Hi, I don’t think we’ve actually met.”</p><p>You turn toward the man who’s leaning around Nona to get a better look at you. His features are even more attractive up-close, particularly with that soft, warm smile, which you match. “No, I don’t think we have.”</p><p>“Mr. Perry!”</p><p>One of the children who’s loading the tents into the back of the van is all that he needs to flip the teacher switch again. He rushes over and peers up at the girl who’s standing inside the open van. “What’s up, Maddy?”</p><p>“Was I right?” Nona asks. Her voice low.</p><p>You bite your lip to suppress a smirk; work very hard not to look too closely at how Michael’s ass looks in those jeans. “Quiet, Nona.”</p><p>“I couldn’t help but notice you showing off that you don’t have a wedding ring.”</p><p>“<em>Quiet</em>, Nona.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>After arriving at the campsite, much of day is spent on a trek through the woods. The kids have been learning about the woodlands all year as part of their science curriculum, and the camping trip is, in part, a culmination of that work. You and the rest of the adults each take a group of the children to a number of spots for them to examine the foliage, the soil, and the wildlife.</p><p>Everyone comes together for a late lunch in the picnic area near the parking lot, and this time – avoiding Nona’s gaze because you know how she will look at you – you step in when Michael asks for volunteers—this time to help distribute the lunches.</p><p>“Need help with the other cooler?” you ask as you draw closer to him. There are two <em>sizable</em> coolers to hold the necessary meals for the two classes, and he’s only halfway through the first.</p><p>He looks up from the bags that he’s been handing out to a few of the kids, and your heart stutters when he smiles wide. “Yeah, that’d actually be great, thank you.”</p><p>You nod and kneel down beside him, cracking into the other cooler and summoning over the next child who was waiting to receive a bag from Michael.</p><p>“The moment I learned about this trip, I knew it must be a logistical nightmare because of things like this,” you tell him. It’s true—if Nona hadn’t asked you personally, you can’t imagine that you’d have signed up to do this, just because everything about it screams <em>pain in the ass</em>. You’re frankly astonished that they tried it once and then <em>kept doing it</em>.</p><p>As far as you understand it from Nona, much of it is because the trip is Michael’s passion project. He’s willing to put in the work to keep it running.</p><p>“It’s a bit of a pain,” he allows. “But we had to cancel once because of rain, and Nona and I both really felt a difference in how much the kids took away from the material. It’s a really cool opportunity for them to apply what they’ve learned, and we’re willing to make it happen. With help from diligent parents like yourself, of course.”</p><p>While he’s been speaking, his attention has mostly been on the food, and each kid he’s been handing it over to. But finally, he looks over toward you and he smirks. Nothing about the sentiment should seem playful, maybe, but his lips purse just slightly, and you could <em>swear</em> his gaze flicks to your mouth before he abruptly turns back to the cooler, so you follow suit.</p><p>“Of course.” You echo his words knowingly, but like Michael, you don’t look his way. You smile kindly to the kids as they claim the lunches, and you don’t look his way. </p><p>Until finally all of the children have their food, and you can also settle in to eat. You and Nona claim one of the last free tables, but the other two chaperones choose to go off by themselves—Nona mutters that, based on their behavior from PTA meetings, they <em>probably want to consult with each other about all of the things Michael and I are doing wrong</em>. </p><p>It is <em>not</em> a surprise when Michael gets everything stored and locked in the van and comes to sit down beside Nona.</p><p>“Did you bring your guitar this year, Michael?” Nona asks, when he’s barely taken more than a bite.</p><p>This question, too, would seem innocuous if it didn’t feel like it’s for your benefit.</p><p>Scratch that, if you couldn’t <em>tell</em> that it’s for your benefit, because you see the way Nona leans forward and rests her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand. Nona is a sincere, engaged listener, but she doesn’t focus that hard unless she’s performing at least a little bit.</p><p>“Absolutely, I did.” He smiles, looking between the two of you. “It’s one of the kids’ favorite parts of the trip every year.”</p><p>“He likes to think so,” Nona stage-whispers.</p><p>“They tell me so!”</p><p>You furrow your brow thoughtfully as you finish a bite of your sandwich. “Maybe they don’t want to tell you that you sound bad, and they overcompensate.”</p><p>Michael looks torn—equal parts amused and offended. “If anyone here thinks I sound bad, maybe they don’t need a tent tonight.”</p><p><em>Maybe I can share yours instead</em>.</p><p>The words sit in the back of your throat, and they are not at risk of coming out – you’re supervising a few dozen kids, you haven’t forgotten that – but as you blink at Michael, you feel almost as though he knows you’re thinking them.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Okay, he definitely doesn’t sound bad.</p><p>In fact, as the kids all sit around the campfire that evening – already sated with s’mores and hot chocolate – it does seem as though many of them are <em>quite</em> intent on hearing Michael sing, and on singing along. When he finally cracks open his guitar case, there are a number of cheers. </p><p>And after he checks that he’s all tuned up, he looks around at them all and says, “In my class, we’re pretty big fans of the Okee Dokee Brothers. Does anyone from Ms. Alberts’ class know those guys?” A few hands shoot up, and Michael laughs eagerly. “Awesome. For everyone who doesn’t know them, they have a few songs that are actually <em>perfect</em> for what we’re doing right now, and I’d really love to teach them to you. For the folks who <em>do</em> know them… any guesses?”</p><p>There are a chorus of excited answers, all of which go over your head—you and David don’t really listen to children’s music, and judging by the name of the band alone, you suspect that’s what they are. This seems all but confirmed by some of the song titles you hear, including one of the two songs that the most children seem to be naming.</p><p>“Through the Woods!” several kids exclaim. And several others: “The Bull Frog Opera!”</p><p>“So many awesome guesses!” Michael begins to pluck through a few chords while he looks at them all and grins. “I think we might have time to get to a few of them tonight.”</p><p>You might be inclined to say that he’s putting on a good front for the kids; it’s late, and you’ve had a long day, and this will be a great way to get them to wind down before bed. But that’s not what it is, not really. You’re pretty sure he <em>likes</em> encouraging them and getting them engaged. His enthusiasm at doing so seems very, very real.</p><p>He continues: “Let’s start with one of my favorites, though. This is a song called ‘Through the Woods.’”</p><p>When Michael starts singing, you don’t want him to stop.</p><p>There are a few moments when his eyes meet yours over the fire, and each time, there’s a quirk to his lips that just <em>gets</em> you, but his gaze never lingers for long before his attention is back on the children.</p><p>Next to you, Nona eventually looks down at her phone and gives him a gesture. Michael nods, attentive to her even while in the middle of that song about the bull frog opera.</p><p>And then, once he’s finished: “Alright, last one before bedtime.”</p><p>You find yourself just as disappointed as the kids.</p><p>Only, after that last song, all of the children get ready to filter off in pairs to their tents. You find David and give him a hug – you kept your word and really tried to hang back all day, but you’re only human – and within ten minutes, the kids have gone to bed, or are at least whispering away in their respective tents.</p><p>Whereas you and the other adults are still very much awake. Whereas you sit back down by the dwindling fire, and, after doing a quick walk-through of the tents with one of the other parents, Michael grabs his guitar and walks around the fire pit to sit beside you.</p><p>Suddenly, it is much less disappointing.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Nona turns in early. They have arranged a sleep schedule whereby Michael will stay up late enough, and Nona will wake early enough, that none of the kids can conceivably get into mischief, so if she <em>wants</em> to get any sleep, she needs to go to bed not long after the children have settled in.</p><p>“Don’t get too rowdy out here,” she tells you as she gets up. Or rather, she tells Michael—while the three of you have been chatting, Michael has been absently plucking on his guitar. Providing an ambiance, more than an annoyance, but at Nona’s stern look, he seems bashful.</p><p>“I wouldn’t want to wake them up, Nona, c’mon.”</p><p>But she just shakes her head and gives you a final wave before retreating to go to sleep. Leaving you and Michael alone.</p><p>(Oh, are the other two chaperones still up and chatting? You barely noticed.)</p><p>“You should be proud,” he tells you, almost as soon as Nona is gone.</p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>When you look at Michael, the barest hint of lingering firelight casts him mostly in shadow, and it feels so agonizingly intimate. His gaze is warm and inviting and you wish you were anywhere else with him, anywhere you could touch him like you’re almost immediately longing to.</p><p>“I couldn’t even tell for sure which of Nona’s students was yours until you gave your kid a hug goodnight. I know how hard that probably was.”</p><p>“That’s putting it lightly,” you say with a soft laugh. “He and I had a few little chats about it once I committed to coming. But it was kind of killing me the whole time.”</p><p>Michael’s eyes are all concern. “Yeah, of course it was.” Looking down at his guitar, he parses through his next words very carefully. “Do you do this sort of thing as a family, really? Camping trips and stuff.”</p><p>You hear both this and the question he’s trying not to ask, and you answer them both. “When we can. It’s just the two of us, so obviously it’s important to me that I make time to see and be with him, but getting away like this is hard. We mostly end up doing trips to the museum, workshops at the library, things like that.”</p><p>“Very good things.” His eyes are on you again—have been since you said <em>just the two of us</em>.</p><p>“David likes them, I think,” you agree softly. Then, tilting your head to the side: “You do this a lot, though, right?</p><p>“Oh, I…” Michael seems taken aback. “Sometimes, yeah. How…”</p><p>“Nona just mentioned it once. She said it’s the only reason that she can stand doing this. Since it means you care enough to pull it all together.”</p><p>For a few moments, he considers this in silence. All you can really hear are some crickets and a few stray bird calls. That and the guitar—Michael’s still lightly moving his fingers over the strings. “She’s never let on to me that she doesn’t like it.”</p><p>“I don’t think it’s in a way where she’d actually want to stop,” you rush to reassure him. “If she did—”</p><p>“She’d tell me. Yeah, I know.” This could have sounded dismissive, but it doesn’t; it’s more a moment of confirming that, yes, you both know and understand that Nona would <em>never</em> go along with something she didn’t like. “Uh, yeah, I’m a pretty big fan of camping. Bringing a few dozen kids along isn’t exactly ideal, but sometimes that’s how it goes.”</p><p>You have to stifle a laugh. “Yeah, I hate it when I try to go somewhere alone and other people’s children insist on tagging along.”</p><p>“Right? Such a pain.” Michael glances around at the surrounding tents—already, there are some scattered snores from the kids who’ve fallen asleep. “A lot lonelier when it’s just me, though.”</p><p>And honestly… it is pretty charming. Here you sit in the woods, supervising a group of kids who spent the day getting excited about trees, and plants, and wildlife. You’d probably be endeared even if it <em>weren’t</em> also clear that he’s using it as a line, a little bit.</p><p>But you let the line-ness of it all hang in the air unaddressed for the time being, and so does he.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>You’re the only ones still awake, now.</p><p>Michael’s asked you about David, and about your job. You’ve asked him about what made him want to teach. He’s long-since discarded his guitar. It’s all completely sweet and completely innocent, and you never want to go to bed.</p><p>Thoughtfully – almost tentatively – he tilts his head to the side and whispers, “I’d kiss you right now if we weren’t…”</p><p>“I’d let you,” you reply.</p><p>Neither of you speak for a few moments, just allowing those words to linger there. And then he asks whether you have any siblings.</p><p>It’s the best <em>not</em> first kiss you’ve ever had.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The sun wakes you up twenty minutes before your alarm is set to go off, no doubt helped along by the hard ground beneath you, which had you squirming through the few hours of sleep that you managed to get.</p><p>When you emerge from your tent, Nona is sitting over the fire pit with an early riser from Michael’s class, sipping coffee and bundled against the morning chill. She smiles at the sight of you, giving you a wave while you make your way over.</p><p>“You sleep alright?” she asks, once you reach her.</p><p>“I’ve slept worse.”</p><p>Nona laughs, nodding. “That sounds about right. Help yourself to some coffee, then.” She gestures toward the little camp stove and the pot over it. <em>Excellent</em>, yes. Just what you wanted. It’s while you’re pouring the drink into a mug that Nona muses, “You know, normally I take the late shift. I don’t really care either way, but…normally.”</p><p>You remember anew the hint of surprise on her face the previous evening when Michael told her, <em>I could stay up this time around, Nona</em>.</p><p>How had you missed that this essentially meant, <em>Let us talk without the kids around, Nona</em>?</p><p>Coffee poured, you settle down near her. Get a very clear look at Michael as he emerges from his tent; he is drowsy and soft and immediately smiling at the sight of you. “It’s nice to mix it up sometimes.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>By the time the bus pulls back into the school parking lot, the kids are exhausted—much quieter than on the drive out to the woods. You and Nona, too, are relatively subdued, although she is immediately able to kick into teacher mode when she hears an argument simmering a few rows back.</p><p>Parents have already collected in the lot and around the block, waiting for their children, but Michael has also beaten the bus there, so as the kids disembark from the bus, he’s ready: “Could everyone help me and Ms. Alberts by grabbing something from the van and bringing it back inside before finding your parents?”</p><p>With minimal groaning, they do help, and soon enough, parents and children are reuniting eagerly and heading home. You and the other chaperones linger long enough to ask Nona and Michael whether they need any more help, but the van has been emptied, and Michael glances at the vehicle and sighs before saying, “No, I should get this back before they try and charge me for an extra day. Everything else should probably wait.”</p><p>“Thank you, though!” Nona rushes to add, smiling at each of you. Then, looking down at David and the other chaperones’ children: “And thank you for sharing your parents with us for a little while. Mr. Perry and I will see you all on Monday, alright?”</p><p>So you and David head toward your car – David practically sprinting, which makes you chuckle – when you hear a voice calling your name.</p><p>You turn around—Michael is leaning halfway out the passenger-side window of the van, beckoning you over with a sly smile. You work very hard to suppress a grin as you walk back over to him. Once you are near enough to speak without raising your voice, you say, “You can’t tell me you lost my number already when I know it was in that handy little binder you had to carry around the whole trip.”</p><p>“Oh, yeah, funny thing about that…” He glances down at his bag. “I technically can’t use it without permission. Not if it’s not for school.”</p><p>“Hmm.” You lean up against the side of the van and cross your arms, reveling in the way his lips purse just slightly when his eyes wander toward your mouth. “Yeah, I guess you can use it. <em>Need</em> to use it, even.”</p><p>Michael’s eyes are bright. “Oh, it’s mandatory?” You nod. “I’ll take that under advisement.”</p><p>“Good. Now go return this van.”</p><p>“Only when you stop making eyes at me.”</p><p>David’s voice suddenly carries, loud and full, across the parking lot. “Mom! I gotta pee, c’mon!”</p><p>Raising your eyebrows, you look over toward your son and then back at Michael, who is <em>fully</em> laughing at you. But then he softens and says, “I’ll call you. Soon.”</p><p>“I’m glad.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>You and David have been home for a little over half an hour—just enough time for him to eat a snack and pass out from the exhaustion of the trip. Enough time for you to make a cup of coffee and settle in with a book. And then your phone rings.</p><p>“Can I clear something else with you?”</p><p>No <em>hello</em>, or <em>how are you</em>, or even <em>hey, it’s Michael</em>. But you’re too stupidly pleased to hear his voice again to even tease him about it. “Maybe. What is it?”</p><p>“I, uh, can’t send or deliver stuff to your address without your permission, either.”</p><p>Your <em>address</em>. Well, that’s interesting. You set the book aside and sit back in your seat on the couch, looking up at the ceiling. “Promise you won’t use it to add me to a bunch of mailing lists in the hopes of slowly driving me insane?”</p><p>Michael laughs on the other end of the line, and your breath catches in your throat. “I promise.”</p><p>“Well, I guess it’s alright, then.”</p><p>There’s a knock on your door.</p><p>“I was thinking about something, after I dropped off the van.” His voice in your ear as you rise to your feet and weave through the living room toward your front door.</p><p>“What was that?”</p><p>Opening the door. This handsome, charming man looking at you, hanging up his phone almost the moment you lock eyes.</p><p>“I was thinking about how I owe you a kiss.”</p><p>You stand back, allowing Michael to cross the threshold and shutting the door behind him.</p><p>His lips are soft and sweet against yours.</p>
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